Outback Heroines

by Sue Williams

  Professionally, Frauke has now received a clutch of awards not only for her bold and innovative designs, but also for her business acumen. She was even named a West Australian finalist in the Telstra Business Women’s Awards and she speaks regularly at conferences and seminars, mentors women in business and is a leading supporter of community events such as the Ord Valley Muster and the Kimberley Moon Experience. Her jewellery designs have been exhibited to an international audience, too. She was invited by Rio Tinto and Argyle Pink Diamonds to showcase their wares at the 2009 G’Day USA Australia Week celebrations in New York, and then tour them nationwide. She was also invited to design a tie-pin inset with a pink diamond cut into the shape of Australia for Baz Luhrmann for the event.

  Another set of designs were shown to more than two billion people, when she sponsored the Australian competitor at the Miss World event of 2006. Sabrina Houssami wore her custom-made jewellery, featuring four matching pink diamonds, and ended up placing in the top three.

  ‘You look at Frauke’s life, and see it’s all about turning adversity into advantage,’ says her old neighbour Judy. ‘She’s been through so much, but she’s emerged stronger and more determined than ever. She’s an inspiration.’

  It’s 12 years since Frauke lost her son, and 28 since her first husband died, but finally she’s at peace with the world. It’s still immensely painful to talk about Peter, but her love for him has only grown, she believes, rather than faded. ‘His death affected us all, but I think we’re a strong family,’ she says. ‘We were strong before, but we’re even stronger now. I think I’ve changed – I’ve become more reclusive. But you can only learn from something like this, and keep moving. Peter wouldn’t have wanted us to be sad, not at all.’

  The family still have breakfast or lunch together at Frauke’s house every Sunday and for all of them, this rugged, still isolated part of the world is irrefutably home. ‘My growing-up place is Germany, but my home now is here,’ says Frauke, smiling. ‘My kids are here. My grandkids are here. All the people I love are here, and all the memories.

  ‘I don’t think I could live in Germany again. It’s too narrow-minded there. You only mix with the same kind of people as yourself, and you’d never be allowed to try something new. I could never have opened a jewellery business there, not knowing anything about it. Here you get a chance to try your hand at anything and, if you work hard and your heart is in it, you will succeed. Kununurra is now so much more sophisticated than it was all those years ago, and is a great place to live. The community has embraced me here, and I have embraced them. Now, I love Kununurra.’

  Frauke Bolten-Boshammmer. (Photo by Sue Williams)

  The Bungle Bungle Ranges near Frauke’s property. (Photo courtesy of Tourism Western Australia)

  4

  FOR THE LOVE OF ADVENTURE

  Di Zischke, Coominya, Queensland

  Sitting astride her favourite camel and leading three more, Di Zischke rode off into one of Australia’s harshest deserts on a lonely four-month mission to retrace the route that had killed explorers Burke and Wills 140 years before.

  Her husband watched her leave with his heart heavy. He was worried how she’d fare on her own on this historic venture, but knew it would be pointless to argue. When Di set her mind on doing anything, it was impossible to change it. And now, as he stood with two of the couple’s closest friends, watching her wave once, then slowly lope her way across the rugged terrain until the horizon eventually swallowed her up, he smiled. Di was the most capable woman he’d ever known and, if anyone could complete this incredible 3500-kilometre journey from the Dig Tree, close to the remote South Australian Outback town of Innamincka, to Karumba on the Gulf of Carpentaria in northern Queensland – and then back again – it would be her.

  As for Di herself, she simply wouldn’t allow any negatives to creep in. ‘I’d always wanted to do this and, at the age of 58, I at last had the opportunity,’ she says. ‘My children had grown up and there was nothing stopping me. I loved adventure and I’d always been excited by the thought of the Burke and Wills expedition. I was tired of people knocking them and I’d always wanted to see for myself exactly what their journey had been like.

  ‘As I rode off that day, I just hoped my husband and our friends would leave and not try to catch up with me for morning tea. I felt I was finally on my way and didn’t want any distractions.’

  After all, she knew she’d need all the strength, determination and resourcefulness she could muster for the exhausting trek that lay in wait. There was the harshness of the desert itself and the searing heat to contend with, as well as some of the most deadly snakes in the world, the lack of food and water, the wild animals, the flightiness of her camels and the inevitable loneliness of the long distances ahead.

  ‘Of course, I didn’t know if I’d make it,’ says Di. ‘But I did know I’d give it as good a go as I possibly could.’

  * * *

  Coominya, Queensland, 1940s

  Diane Malmborg was born looking for excitement. When just a baby, in the early 1940s, her dad, Len, a Queensland cattleman with a 1500-acre property, would pick her up and balance her on his saddle behind the pommel. Then he’d spend long hours mustering with the delighted baby gurgling happily as he rode. As she grew, she barely left the saddle, simply moving to behind her dad and clinging to his waist, and then graduating on to her own pony.

  Her mum, Doreen, an elegant woman from Brisbane who’d never really adapted to marrying a man who loved the bush, would despair of her tomboy daughter. But Di loved living at Kangnarra out back of Coominya, in the West Moreton region of south-east Queensland, and would spend every spare minute hanging around the stables and cattle yards, or helping her dad and two younger brothers at mustering time.

  ‘I loved everything about the bush,’ says Di today, a short, nuggetty, no-nonsense woman in jeans and a wide-brimmed cowboy hat. ‘I loved the horses, the cattle and the land. I loved mustering and drafting in the yard. I don’t know why. I just loved the animals and the work they involved.’

  When there was no work to do at home, she’d ride over to another cattle property, on the other side of Coominya, to ask if she could help out. The couple there, Frank and Lydia Zischke, had a son, Cedric, 16 years older than Di, who was such an expert horseman that he’d quickly become the station’s head drover. He’d been born bow-legged and walked with an awkward gait that the other kids would try to ape. They never could. Di loved spending time with him and his dad. ‘Although every time I appeared, his dad probably always thought, “Here’s that bloody kid again!”’ Di laughs.

  The two families had plenty in common and in 1957, they got together and made the joint decision to change from European Hereford cattle – which had been terribly knocked about by the drought – to the more hardy Brahmans, originally exported from India and far more suited to the heat. A big mob was brought down from Rockhampton and the arrival of the beasts, with their distinctive humps, oily coats and much greater resistance to parasites and disease, caused a huge stir in the area. At first, their neighbours were disgusted with this break from tradition and threatened to shoot any of the ‘yaks’ that strayed onto their lands. But over the following years, when everyone noticed how the families no longer had to dip their cattle to rid them of parasites, compared to the Hereford-dipping every three to six weeks, the chorus of criticism died down, and they all quietly swapped over to Brahmans, too.

  At the age of 11, however, Di’s world collapsed when her dad fell ill from injuries he’d sustained at war, and the family moved to Brisbane for him to be treated in hospital. Di absolutely hated the city. It was a claustrophobic place, noisy and dirty and crowded with people and cars, and she missed the animals, wide-open spaces and freedom of the bush. When they were finally able to move back home, two years on, she breathed a sigh of relief. Len, however, never recovered his health completely. He died three years later, shortly after Di’s 16th birthday.

  Within 24 hours of his deat
h, her grieving mum, Doreen, announced the family was moving back to the city. Di begged to be allowed not to join them. As a compromise, she asked if she could live with Cedric’s family on their property, Seven Mile. By now, the pair were seeing each other, and his parents were happy to allow her to stay. She was never to return home. Two years later, in 1961, when Di turned 18, they married. It was the first time most people had ever seen her in a dress.

  Di went straight back to work helping Cedric and his father, never even stopping when she fell pregnant. It was only at her father-in-law’s insistence that they moved out of the drover’s hut by the dip yards on his second property, Balara, and into an old Queenslander at Seven Mile. She was still mustering up to two months before she had the couple’s first child in 1963, a daughter they called Lynn.

  ‘So she was riding even before she was born!’ says Di. ‘Then I’d ride with her on the front of my saddle.’ Two years later, she had another daughter, Jan, then their son, Jesse, arrived six years on. When the kids were very small, they’d sometimes all ride on the same horse with her. Once the youngest reached five years old, the children would ride together on a separate horse alongside her. At other times, Cedric’s father would chase cattle in his Volkswagen, and the children would bang on the doors in excitement.

  By now, Di and Cedric were living back on Balara and when Frank died in 1972, they also bought his step-sisters’ share of Seven Mile. Instead of moving back into the old Queenslander, however, which was by a big, open, treeless paddock, from which houses could be seen in the distance, they decided to build their own home on Balara. Rather than choosing a spot on the dark, rich soil near the lagoon on the property, Di said she’d prefer a home on an isolated, elevated rocky knob. She wanted to stay completely hidden in the unspoilt, untamed bush. Cedric drilled a bore there, as they had no water, and also worked day and night lugging huge slabs of stone from the river over to the site and cutting timber – which had been milled on the property – by hand, to build the house with. Later the pair planted a garden in tons of soil they carted to the house. It was a monumental task.

  Di’s life felt very happy and full, with work on the station and a growing family. It was never the most ordinary of households, however. As Lynn says, ‘I really knew my family was a bit unusual when I didn’t get into trouble for riding my pony through the house. And while most mothers would be in the kitchen baking, mine would be out mustering, and my sister and I were allowed to go camping down at the creek by ourselves, cooking our own dinner of sausages. Whilst she was strict, we did have a lot of freedom. She’s always been a free spirit who encouraged us to be independent and resourceful.’ Di’s passion for horses also saw her continue to compete in every rodeo, campdraft, race – even bareback – and competition in the area. But there was always just one thing missing in her life: camels.

  She’d fallen for camels as a kid, when she’d first seen photos of the animals and loved the look of them. She often asked her dad for one, but he always fobbed her off, saying the family lived too close to the coast to keep them. ‘I don’t know what it is about camels, but I just know that I can look at an Arab horse, and a Brahman cow, and a dingo, and I see their beauty,’ says Di. ‘But then when I look at a camel, my heart goes thump, thump, thump.’ Later, in her early 20s, she spotted her first live camel by the side of the road with a travelling circus, and went over to have a bareback ride. Having lost none of that early enthusiasm, she began badgering Cedric for one, but he refused to give in.

  So on her 40th birthday, in 1984, she announced that she’d go on a camel trek instead. She signed up for a 14-day trip with Noel Fullerton, known throughout Outback Australia as the Camel King, and travelled to his camel farm 200 kilometres south of Alice Springs, from which he ran regular forays for adventure-seekers. ‘I loved camels, and wanted to spend time with them,’ she says. ‘This seemed a really good way to go.’ On the day of her departure, Cedric wished her a fond farewell. ‘But just don’t buy a camel!’ he called out after her.

  * * *

  Di had just set up camp on the barren plains of the Sturt Stony Desert a few weeks into her Burke and Wills trek when, in the fading light of evening, she saw a big mob of wild camels thundering towards her. She hastily hobbled her two youngest camels, tethered the other two close by and lit her campfire. She held her breath. The wild camels, she knew, would love to take her camels away with them, but she couldn’t afford to give them any opportunity.

  The camels saw the fire and veered away but, later that evening, a massive bull camel came stomping out of the blackness towards her. She stirred the cinders of the dying fire, threw on more wood and blew hard until flames leapt up into the dark night sky. The camel hesitated and Di walked towards him, shouting and hollering at him to go away. He watched her intently until she came close, then turned away.

  Quickly, she brought her camels closer to the fire, and set up guard all night, sitting on her swag by the fire. The camel came back a few times, mostly to eye Di’s youngest female camel, Tigerlily, but carefully kept his distance. He didn’t know what to make of this tough little woman who didn’t seem to show any fear.

  By the time dawn finally arrived, Di felt exhausted, but her camels were still all together and safe. She tied them in a row on short ropes, close by each other, and set off on foot, leading them carefully over the rugged ground. The wild bull camel followed behind, and every 10 minutes, Di would walk back along the line, shout at him and, occasionally, throw rocks in his general direction. After an agonisingly slow and painful 5 kilometres, he seemed at last to get the message: this woman wouldn’t give up.

  It was with huge relief that Di watched him wander away. ‘You hear a lot of people say they’ve been chased by a wild camel and ended up having to shoot him, but I didn’t think that was necessary at all,’ says Di. ‘I carried a gun, but I wasn’t about to kill a camel. I’d never do that. So I was pleased to see him finally go.’

  * * *

  Gardiner Range, Northern Territory, 1984

  That first camel trek with Noel Fullerton was a life-changing experience. It was a gruelling 14-day desert trek down over the remote Gardiner Range south-west of Alice Springs. ‘It was a hard route over pretty rough country, with an average one-in-ten chance of breaking a leg,’ says Noel. ‘We were having to travel 25 miles [40 kilometres] a day, which is a lot on a camel, but that was the distance to water each time. But Di handled it well. I think women generally have more tolerance for discomfort than men, and they don’t whinge, whereas men bitch all the time. But she was a very good horse rider and was obviously enjoying the change.’

  In fact, Di had fallen completely in love with the camels. ‘I’d spent all my life on horses and spent days riding, but with a horse you can never go far from water,’ she says. ‘But the camels opened up a whole new world. You can just ride and ride and ride, and get into the kind of country where it’d be impossible to take a horse. You can actually see what’s over the horizon, and the sense of freedom was just incredible.’

  Having such a great time, she started longing, all over again, to buy a camel of her own. But holding her husband in such high esteem, and with an old-fashioned deference towards him, she’d never openly defy his wishes. ‘I love these animals!’ she told Noel on the morning of the fifth day. ‘I’d love to buy one.’ He smiled. ‘Well, I’m happy to sell you one,’ he replied. She shook her head. ‘No, I’m not allowed to buy one.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Well, OK, what do you have to swap for one then?’

  When Di arrived back home, she went straight to the kitchen to cook Cedric a good dinner, and opened a beautiful bottle of wine to go with it. When they were sitting at the table, enjoying the evening, she broached the subject of camels. ‘Guess what I’ve done?’ she asked nervously. ‘I’ve swapped two Brahman calves for a camel . . .’ She waited nervously for her husband’s reaction. When it finally came, it took her completely by surprise. ‘Well, one’s no good to you,’ he said finally. ‘You sh
ould have got two.’

  The next July, Di went along to the annual camel races in Alice Springs to buy another camel. The event started 14 years before on a bet between Noel and his mate Keith Mooney-Smith, when they decided to race their camels along the dry Todd River bed. It had proved such a hit with the locals, they were now holding races every year in their own arena. Around 15 camels would compete in the preliminary races, and up to 20 camels at a time in the main Camel Cup, with all proceeds going to charity.

  Di could never resist a challenge, and when Noel asked her if she’d like to ride one of his camels in a race, she eagerly agreed. After all, she’d been riding horses in gruelling cross-country races for years, how hard could this be? She would never forget that first time.

  ‘It was incredible,’ she says. ‘There were 20 camels lined up across the track, 19 blokes on them, 19 more holding them, everyone yelling, and camels trying to sit on you, camels getting up and camels getting down – all hell had broken loose. You’re trying to sit there, waiting for the starter in the tower to fire his gun and the green light to go on. That first race I got penned in by my legs. By the time the gun went and the camels took off, I ended up with bruises all the way from my hip to my ankle.’

  But she learnt from that experience. After the next races, she finally returned home with a beautiful jug, a couple of ribbons and two more camels. ‘You soon realise that if you want to ride in those races, you have to ride with the men,’ she says. ‘They won’t give you an inch. But I just love the competition, and I love to win too!’